


Something's Different

by lookupkate



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, JOHNLOCK IS ENDGAME, Jealous Sherlock, M/M, Porn, Struggling with Sexuality, Uncertain John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-09-10
Packaged: 2018-02-15 12:17:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2228718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookupkate/pseuds/lookupkate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John goes on a date. Something's different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yarnjunkie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yarnjunkie/gifts), [sra_danvers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sra_danvers/gifts), [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



John had a date. This wasn't an ordinary date, though. Something was different. He'd gone out and bought a different cologne, this one Sherlock recognised...but from where? It was of little consequence, the date wouldn't end well. Dates with John never really seemed to these days. At least before he would go on second and third dates before letting the poor woman down. 

"Sherlock, have you seen my army jacket? The old green one that was at the back of the closet?" John asked on his rampage through the sitting room. 

"You threw it away." Sherlock replied in a disinterested manner. 

That was when Sherlock's stomach dropped. The jacket. Now he remembered the scent. It had completely impregnated the dark green jacket with a woodsy smell that gave Sherlock a headache. He'd seen how 'flame resistant' it really was. Not very, it turned out. 

"Bollocks! I never throw anything away!" John said, head half way in the front closet. 

Sherlock shook out the paper he was reading and cleared his throat. He didn't realise this was what a poker player would call a 'tell'. John's head popped up and he looked at Sherlock with narrowed eyes. 

"You prick. What did you do with it?" He asked, just this side of irate. 

And that was ridiculous! It was a horrible jacket! It smelled, for God's sake. He should be thanking Sherlock for getting rid of it...or...or praising him for keeping him from a death involving flames! Because, Christ, had it glowed. Lit up like a bloody Christmas tree, it had! Turned a strange yellow at the end there, too. Indicative of formaldehyde. John shouldn't be angry at all. Maybe the cologne was the source of the formaldehyde. 

"And you aren't even listening! I don't know why I bloody try! I'll have to get a lock for my door so you don't ruin my things!" John shouted. 

"No lock you buy will work." Sherlock said, obviously not under his breath. 

John went silent and still. The suddenness of it had Sherlock glancing around his paper, the quiet grating. John stood stock still, nostrils flaring. Sherlock rarely felt like prey, but what a rare occasion this was. 

"John. John, you're going to be late for your date." Sherlock said in the closest he'll admit to tentative. 

"I was going to wear my jacket to my date." John bit out quickly. 

Sherlock tried to back peddle a bit. "Your other jacket is better, John. The black one, the shooting jacket. Whoever she is, she'll like that one. It's less disgusting than the other, to say the least. Why would you want to even wear that thing in public?" 

"Someone I care about gave it to me, okay? Suppose you wouldn't know about that though, would you? You toss everything I give to you or cut it up for an experiment. Don't think I didn't see what you did with the posh socks I gave you for Christmas. You could have returned them, you know." John added, grabbing his shooting jacket and keys from the table. 

"It's wasn't that I didn't like them...they were perfect-" Sherlock began. 

"For the experiment? Yeah, got that. I've gotta go." John interrupted before turning and stomping down the stairs. 

Sherlock folded his paper carefully and walked into the loo to find the cologne. It was settled deep in the cabinet, as if John could keep it from his notice. Geo. F. Trumper. It even had a little crown on the top. Sherlock held the bottle up to his nose with a frown, twisted the top and breathed shallowly. Yes, this was the stuff. Disgusting. 

Back in the kitchen Sherlock pulled out a long cylinder and his bunsen burner. Time to see what was in this after all. 

\-----

If it had been anything else John wouldn't have been angry. The destruction of personal property was something that went hand in hand with living with Sherlock Holmes, he knew this. But his army jacket? Really? He'd wanted so badly to wear it tonight. He even went out and spent thirty-six pounds he didn't really have on his old cologne. He wanted everything to be perfect. And now it as shite. 

He stopped outside the Fox and Hound to pull himself together. This was a happy occasion. He didn't need to be so worried. There was no reason to be stressed out, really, it was just Murray. Sure, they hadn't seen each other since John was in Afghanistan, and even then things had been tense, but things would be relaxed tonight. Just a few beers between friends. 

John rolled his neck and walked into the lively building. His eyes adjusted to the lights and he walked up to the bar to order a pint. The lady behind the counter poured him a tall glass and scraped some of the foam from the top before holding it out. He set down some money and turned around. 

"Come here often?" Came a deep voice from his left elbow. 

John grinned and looked over. Sitting there was one (still very muscular) tanned piece of army trash. Bill fucking Murray. Lord in heaven. John slapped him hard on the arm and Murray feigned injury. 

"Oi! Johnny, you'll hurt me! I'm an old man!" Murray whined. 

"Yeah? And what does that make me?" John  asked teasingly. 

"Same thing as always, a fine piece of arse." Murray purred conspiratorialy. 

"Yeah, you gonna find me a date, or what?" John asked, blushing and looking around at all the pretty (slightly drunk, highly suggestable) women about. 

"Or what." Murray replied with a toothy grin. 

John scrubbed a hand through his hair and laughed uncomfortably. This was a thing he and Murray did, he told himself. Murray hit on him and John pretended not to notice. It was how they'd always been. Things had never gone further. Well, there was that one time in the showers where Murray had cupped John's arsecheek in passing, but it was more of a glance than a real squeeze and Murray was gone before he could see how turned on John was because of it. Thinking about jerking off in that steamy room was doing nothing for John's resolve. 

"We should get a booth." He said, trying to arrange himself in his denims without Murray noticing. 

"Yeah. Over in the corner." Murray said, cocking his head. 

John got up and went to sit in the farthest booth while Murray ordered some drinks. God, it had been so long. Had he always been so bloody tall? He never seemed to tower over John but he had to be over six two. Easy. And the way his muscles moved under his t-shirt. They just...writhed. Fuck. Nope. Not gonna think about that. 

Murray came to the booth with three shots in one enormous hand and a lager in the other. He set the drinks down and leaned over to breathe in at John's neck. John sat completely still for what felt like minutes but had to be seconds. 

"Cor, you smell good, Watson." Murray said as he sat. 

John played with a napkin and tried to hold back a grin. 

"Oh, you've gone all shy now, have ye? What happened to the John I knew? Your line's 'whatcha gonna do about it, Murr?'." Murray said as he pushed two shots towards John. 

John chuckled and raised a shot glass, looking at the way the light flickered through it. He wanted so badly to be the John that Murray knew. He wanted. Christ how he wanted. 

"Shots, eh? You tryin to get me drunk, Murr?" He said after a moment. 

"Bottoms up and we'll see about tryin." Murray replied, knocking back a shot of his own and licking the inside of his top lip. 

John downed the shot and the next and then sat back with a sigh. 

"Tell me you missed me." Murray demanded. 

"Every day." John said softly. 

"Ah, don't lie. You got yourself a detective and everything. Our little Johnny shackin up with a genius. He's the real deal, huh?" Murray said as he rested both his feet between John's. 

"Oh, yeah, he's real." John said with a laugh. 

"And he puts you in your place, does he?" Murray said with a soft growl, running the toe of his shoe against John's ankle. 

"Other way around, I'm afraid." John said. 

Murray raised his eyebrows at that. "Oh, really? You learn how to push back, did ya?"

"We're not like that."  John replied quickly. 

"Shame. Not for not tryin, though, right?"

"He's never...he's kind of married to his work."

"And where does that leave you?"

"Gone on a few dates. Haven't really found anyone." John said nervously.  
Murray looked up at the bartender and raised his hand, three fingers wiggling. She nodded and started pouring more shots. 

"And what, you're looking for some sweet girl to settle down with?" Murray asked with a sad smile. 

"Just looking for someone nice." John replied, taking one of the new shots the barmaid just brought over and fiddling with a beer mat. 

"There's your problem, Watson. Nice isn't your type." Murray said with a wink. 

"Oh," John said, trying to hold back a giggle (because a wink from Murray always spelled trouble), "and what's my type?" 

"Tall, dark and handsome. Devilishly handsome. Pushy. Strong. Powerful. Clever." Murray replied without breaking eye contact. "Wearing a black shirt and talkin sweet to ya." 

John shivered and sat up in his seat. "Now you're just describing yourself, stuck-up bastard." 

"Have another drink. I want to show you my new digs." Murray said, face now soft and open. 

"That bad?" John asked with a grin. 

Murray nodded towards the shot glass and John tossed it back. 

\-----

The cab ride had been hot but mercifully short. John thought they should have probably just walked until he stepped from the cab and almost faceplanted. Murray held him up by the back of his jacket and it took John a second to get his bearings back. He let Murray wrap an arm around him and lead him to his flat. 

There were boxes right through the door and Murray kicked them aside before turning on a small light and rounding on John. John backed up and felt the cool wood of the front door on his back. Murray licked his lips and moved closer. 

"Johnny." He purred. "Johnny, I could eat you alive." 

John swallowed hard and nodded slightly. At least at this point he could say he'd nodded in agreement that Murray COULD eat him alive and not whether he SHOULD. And if things went too fast or got weird he could just say it was a misunderstanding. 

Murray moved closer until he was near surrounding John with his body. He pushed John's jacket down his shoulders and off and started on his shirt. John closed his eyes and let his head loll back against the door. 

"Tell me if you need me to stop. I won't go in for anything you don't want." Murray whispered. 

John nodded more fervently then and let Murray remove his shirt and start to pull his vest over his head. He felt little. Like he was being taken care of. Strong hands smoothing down his shoulders. He thought he might actually whimper when Murray touched the scar on his shoulder but his body didn't betray him. 

"This took you away. Away from me." Murray said with a sort of awe in his voice. 

"There was the new guy Rogers. He came in and took my place." John said weakly. 

"No one took your place, John. Not for me, not for your men. No one could have." Murray said, hot breath telling John he was close, so close, to his skin. 

"He was a good doctor." John said. 

"He was no Captain Watson. Christ, how I've missed you."

And with that Murray was kissing John's shoulder and then his neck and, Lord, closer to his mouth. It all had John's body reacting strangely, warmth blooming in his core, cock pressing against his zip. When their lips finally connected John was nearly lost. The words 'kiss, kissing or snogging' didn't even enter his mind. It was like no other kiss he'd ever had. 

Then he was being lifted, that bastard Murray was carrying him down a hall over his shoulder and depositing him on a large bed. The coils squeaked and John felt the room spin. That was enough to bring him back to where he was for a second. 

"You kissed me." He said, hand touching his lips as Murray removed his clothes. 

"You fuckin bet I did. Been waiting years for that. Want more...Captain?" Murray growled. 

"Oh, God, yes." John moaned. 

Murray climbed up his body and started mouthing at his neck. It was like a direct line to his cock. Fucking hell, it felt good. John managed to slither out of his jeans and pants as Murray left what would surely be bruises on his neck. 

"You bloody smell amazing. I missed it so damn much!" Murray said as he began rutting against John rhythmically. 

"God, I'm not gonna last long." John admitted. 

Murray spit in his hand and reached between them, gripping both their cock's and pulling. John moaned and thrust his hips up roughly. 

\-----

John had been gone for a long time. Was he going to spend the night? He hadn't spent the night with a date since Sarah. Who was this woman, why was he so eager to impress her and when would he bloody be home? 

Sherlock walked back and forth in front of the window. He looked out to the street again and sat angrily in his chair. He wanted a cuppa, but John wasn't there to make him one and he sure as hell wasn't going to make himself one while John was out there kissing some woman. 

"Mrs Hudson!" He shouted. 

Nothing came of it so he took to stomping as loudly as he could on the floor. He heard Mrs H on the steps but was so angry John was gone that he couldn't make himself stop stomping. 

"Oh! For heaven's sake! Sherlock Holmes, you stop that this instant!" The woman hollered, hands going up to play with her hair. 

Sherlock slumped forward as she walked into the kitchen to heat some water. 

"You'll have to tell him. He keeps going out because he doesn't know, Sherlock. He just doesn't know." Mrs Hudson said as she tidied the table. 

"There's nothing going on between John and I. He's told you that a million times." Sherlock said with a huff, huge hands finding their way painfully to his hair. 

"What did that Shakespeare fellow say about protesting too much?" Mrs Hudson chirped. 

"Don't come into my flat spouting Hamlet!" Sherlock spat. 

"I'll do what I damn well please." Mrs H shot back. "Just as you'll shoot my walls and leave dead things round the place." 

Sherlock was barely able to stifle the smile that itched at his lips. Mrs Hudson was a good woman. Few saw her strength. Pity. 

\-----

"Fucking hell!" John shouted. 

"Do it!" Murray returned. 

John thrust his hips once more and came hard, body shaking and cock covering both their stomachs in come. Murray moved his fist quickly and started to come as well, cursing and nuzzling his face in John's neck. They shook through the aftershocks and slumped into a tired pile. 

\-----

Mrs Hudson handed Sherlock his tea and sat down across from him. Sherlock took a sip but refused to meet her eyes. 

"He's gone on dates before. Why's this one got you in so much of a tizzy?" The older woman asked. 

"Smthgs dffert." Sherlock mumbled into his shoulder, eyes on the far wall. 

Mrs Hudson clicked her tongue and took a small flask from her robe pocket, opened it and added some whiskey to her tea. Sherlock turned around and saw her twisting the top back on. She refused to look ashamed. 

"I should be in bed and instead I'm up here working on your relationship, I think I deserve a reward. Now use your words and answer my question." She said. 

Sherlock scowled a bit. "Something's different. He was acting...he bought a new cologne!" 

"Oh, dearie. I'm so sorry." Mrs H replied. 

"What do I do?" Sherlock asked quietly. 

"Tell him the truth."

\-----

They lay like that for a long while before either could move. It was nice, just breathing against each other. Eventually Murray got up and grabbed a flannel from the loo. 

"You should stay." He said as he wiped up John's chest. "I'll make us a fry up in the morning." 

John breathed heavily and reached his hand out to get help sitting up. Murray helped him and John grabbed his jeans from the floor. He pulled out his mobile and opened it. There were ten new messages. He was kind of relieved, to tell the truth. 

"Looks like the flatmate needs some help. He's barely self-sufficient, you know." John said, pulling on his pants. "One time I went away for a week and he spent the whole time in my chair. I mean he pissed in the loo and ate, a bit, but he spent a bloody week in my chair. Had to have the thing cleaned." 

Murray walked to him and brushed his thumb across John's cheek. John held his breath and looked up. 

"Jesus, Johnny. You should have said." He whispered gently. 

"Said what?" John asked, keenly aware that he was still quite drunk and might be missing something. 

"You're in love with him." Murray said. 

John pulled back and walked around to find his shirt. "No, I'm not. He's not like that anyway." 

"You left and he refused to leave your chair. For a bloody week. That's not normal. He missed you. That's why he's been texting you all night. I heard your mobile go off a dozen times."

"Ten!" John shouted. "Imagine I said that without yelling." He amended. 

"Ten times. You went out with a friend and he messaged you ten times. Go home and tell him you feel the same." Murray said. 

"I'm not gay!" John shouted, once again seething. 

"As the guy you just came all over, I'd have to disagree. You're at least a little gay." Murray said with a sad smile. 

"I don't want to talk about it." John hissed, pulling on the one shoe that hadn't somehow miraculously stayed on and fumbling with the laces. 

"So what, " Murray said shortly. "does that make me a mistake?" 

"No. I just. Fuck. I like women, okay?" John said as he grabbed his jacket. 

"And a few men. No one's gonna hold that against you, Captain." Murray said as John left the flat. 

"Don't call me that, Murr!" John hissed. 

\-----

John stumbled up the stairs a little after midnight. Mrs Hudson was safely in bed and Sherlock was waiting by the door for him. He blanched a bit when he saw John. 

-drunk-  
-angry-  
-buttons done up wrong-  
-bite marks on neck-  
-traces of second cologne-  
-been with a man-

Sherlock took a quick step back and stood a bit straighter. 

"Remember when I went away and you stayed in my chair?" John shouted. 

Sherlock wasn't used to John being drunk and was taken aback by the question. He hadn't been expecting it and therfore didn't know the possible outcomes of his reply. He hated this. 

"Why?" He asked in lieu of answering. 

"Just answer the bloody question!" John barked. 

Sherlock jumped a bit and narrowed his eyes. 

"Yes. I remember. John, are you okay?" He asked softly. 

"Why my chair? Hmm? Why not your chair?" John asked, just as agitated as before. 

Sherlock was so set off his game by John's aggravation that he answered honestly without thinking. 

"It smelled like you." He said shakily. 

John scowled and walked to the kitchen. Sherlock followed and watched him stick his head under the faucet and drink for longer than should be possible. When he stood up there was water dripping down his neck and he looked very off so Sherlock took him by the arm and walked him into his bedroom. He sat John on the bed and knelt to untie his shoes. 

"What are you doing?" John asked when he didn't feel like vomiting anymore. 

"I'm putting you to bed. You've had too much to drink and you need to sleep." Sherlock said. 

"I'm not going to sleep with you." John said defensively. 

"Stop it. I'll not be sleeping tonight anyhow. So just...stop it." Sherlock admonished as he pushed John down and pulled the covers over his still clothed body. 

"Why did you stay in my chair?" John asked, voice suddenly small and fragile. 

Sherlock sat on the edge of the bed and played with the hem of his shirt. "Because it smelled like you and I can't think when you're gone and...and...you keep me right."


	2. All That Shite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Going to add another chapter. It's going to be awkward sex. Ahhhhhhh yiss.

Sherlock sat with his hand on John's. John, of course, wasn't aware as he was deep asleep and snoring a bit. Only on the exhale, but still. The soft sound made something in Sherlock's chest hitch painfully. He ran his thumb over the soft skin on John's hand just above the knuckle and tried to discern what the feeling meant. That and why the hell he was so intent on touching the sleeping doctor. 

The feeling was making him horribly uncomfortable, almost as uncomfortable as what he saw before him (or rather, what he didn't see). John had been to someone's flat. What had him stuck was the scent of ejaculate from a man but no scent of a woman. That and the hint of men's deodorant, not John's. 

He pushed the fringe back from John's forehead and sighed as the doctor frowned in his sleep. John Watson; constant enigma. 

\-----

The next morning, waking with a massive headache and a sore leg, John wished he could hide. It took him only a few seconds to realise he was in Sherlock's bed and five more to piece together what had happened the night before. There was a glass of water and couple of paracetamol on the bedside table that only added to his shame. Best get up, he thought. 

He listened carefully at the door and heard Sherlock playing Yann Tiersen's Sur Le Fil; an indicator of Sherlock's obvious agitation. Bloody great. No way to avoid it. 

He opened the door and walked out to the loo, splashing water on his face and avoiding looking at himself in the mirror. He brushed his teeth and emptied his bladder before taking a deep breath and going to the kitchen. When he turned on the faucet and cleared his throat Sherlock didn't look up. 

"Tea?" He asked in what he hoped would come across as a calm manner. 

Sherlock let the bow fall to his side and walked right out the door with it in his hand. Brilliant. Sherlock was obviously so angry at him that he couldn't even stand to look at him, John thought. He made tea and toast for himself and got ready for work. 

When he walked down the stairs to leave he could hear Sherlock playing the same song, the angrier second half, in Mrs Hudson's flat. He sighed deeply and walked out to catch the tube. 

\-----

Sherlock finished the piece on his violin and sat at Mrs Hudson's kitchen table. The older woman was out for the day so he simply picked the lock. He really couldn't face John right now, not after the realisation he had come to the night prior. It was a disaster. 

He set his bow and violin down and ran his fingers through his errant curls. It was ridiculous, perfectly pedestrian, and ultimately fruitless. John was straight. He'd said so enough times and with enough fervor to get it through Sherlock's thick skull. No matter what sort of feelings he obviously had for John, they would never be reciprocated. 

He simply needed to push them down, deep inside himself, until they no longer clawed at his brain or, better yet, delete them. He suddenly wished he could delete John altogether. He could get John to move out and forget he ever existed and then, bloody then, he'd be able to think. 

Only that wouldn't work. He had to admit it, if only to himself. The unfortunate thing was that John Watson just happened to be the thing he liked most about himself. He didn't know when he'd started considering John part of him but the man had been so perfectly assimilated into his being that if asked which heartbeat he felt more Sherlock wouldn't know.

\-----

That night, after being home for several hours and having Sherlock remain petulantly silent, there was a knock at the door. John set down his book and walked to open it. He found Murray standing with his hands in his pockets. 

"Hey. Um, just thought I'd check in on you after last night." He said almost sheepishly (something VERY unlike him). 

John cleared his throat and stood a bit taller. "Yeah. It's fine. I'm fine. No hard feelings-" 

Sherlock suddenly stepped forward and got between them, body tight and buzzing with barely contained energy. This man, a man he'd never met, was the reason for John's drunken and upset state the prior night. 

"I disagree. I'd like to state several 'hard feelings'. You let John get a cab home after succefully getting him overly inebriated and seducing him. How you managed the latter I'm not sure, as John has stated more than once his own heterosexuality. I assume it was the alcohol-" He began. 

"Now hold on," Murray said. "Johnny was happy enough with what we did and I don't know what business it is of yours, but he's hardly straight." 

Sherlock rolled his eyes and looked at John expectantly, to which John blushed furiously and glanced at his feet. 

"I'm, er, that is, sometimes, I..." He tried. 

Sherlock's eyes shot wide and he turned back to Murray. 

"It was consensual." Murray said. 

"Yeah...yes. It was." John added. "Can I talk to you outside, Murr?" 

Murray nodded once and then left a bewildered Sherlock behind. Once out front John cleared his throat again and shifted from foot to foot. 

"I see you didn't tell him." Murray said softly. "Look, I wasn't coming here to stir things up. I only wanted to make sure you were okay and that you didn't hate me." 

John swallowed hard and looked up. "Course I don't hate you. I'm messed up and more than a bit confused, but that's not your fault." 

"So, we're good?" Murray asked with a small smile. 

"Yeah. We're good. Better get back to my sulking genius." John said, squeezing Murray's arm. 

"You do that. Seeya later, mate." Murray added before walking away into the night. 

John hung his head and walked up the steps to the flat. Sherlock was pacing and mumbling to himself. He looked up abruptly when he heard the door close. 

"You lied to me. You've lied to everyone." Sherlock hissed. 

"I never said I was straight, I just said I wasn't gay." John said weakly. 

"But you had sex with your old army buddy. That's your type, then? Overly masculine? That's what does it for you?" Sherlock asked snidely. 

"Oh, come on, now you're just being mean." John said with a huff. 

"The next time you go out to get drunk and have sex with some big strong man you can take care of yourself when you come home half out of your mind!" Sherlock shouted. 

"Why are you so bloody angry?" John shouted back. 

"Because I love you!" Sherlock hollered. 

His face went slack and all the blood seemed to leave it. He was breathing roughly and staring John in the eye. It was unnerving. He seemed to snap out of it and flushed deeply before mumbling 'forget I said that' and storming off to his room. After a second John shook himself and walked to the bedroom door. He found the door locked, something he'd never encountered. 

"Sherlock. Sherlock, let me in, for God's sake." He said at the door. 

"So you can make fun of me?" Sherlock whined from the other side. 

"When have I ever made fun of you? You're my best friend and I'd never do that. Just...I have some things I need to say and then I'll leave." John answered. 

He heard the sounds of footsteps from inside the room and Sherlock hesitantly opened the door. He looked like he'd been asleep for days as he'd been pulling at his hair and his face was twisted strangely. John sighed and made himself look him in the eyes. 

"I'm sorry I made you think I was straight. I've never, it's just, well, I've never been with a man before last night and I tried to keep that part of myself under wraps. Look, this isn't easy for me, but I have to say it." John began. 

Sherlock was looking like he might be sick all over John's shoes and John wondered for a moment how someone could be so confident with most things and utterly frail with others. He felt guilty for never telling Sherlock and wouldn't waste this chance. 

"I love you too. Have done for a long while. I don't talk about these things. Perfect soldier, perfect British male, perfect son. All that shite." John said, suddenly aware that he was shaking a bit. 

Sherlock reached out and took his hand. "Your bisexuality doesn't change that, John." He whispered. 

John pulled his hand away and ran it through his short cropped hair. "That's what you say." 

"Who would care? And what would they matter? The people that care about you won't be bothered." Sherlock said sternly. 

"I can't. I just don't know what to do. I don't know who I am anymore." John said, defeated. 

"You...love me. I happen to return the sentiment. Could we just start there?" Sherlock asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets to keep them from gripping at John. 

"Do you want me to kiss you?" John asked. 

Sherlock huffed, pink now coloring his cheeks again, and looked away. John smiled at this and found himself quite suddenly brave. He took a step forward and leaned in to kiss Sherlock's neck. He let out a surprised yelp as Sherlock pulled him into a close embrace. They stood there for a good five minutes before John pulled away and went to make tea.


	3. Not A Problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's the ending to our little story. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

John made tea, as he always did in the evening, and Sherlock sat nervously at the table. When John finally brought the two cups over they had both lost their nerve. They drank in one of the only uncomfortable silences they'd ever experienced and when the tea was gone Sherlock simply stared into the cup while John did the washing up. 

When John turned around and saw the look of intense concentration on Sherlock's face he knew he had to do something before the younger man shut down completely. Sherlock did that, shut down, his face would fall and he would pretend he hadn't been feeling anything. The flick of a switch. 

"I'd better go to bed." he said softly. 

Sherlock looked up with pleading eyes and John went on. 

"Do you want to, I don't know, lay with me for a while?"

"If you, I mean, well, it's just...yes. Yes." Sherlock said clumsily. 

John smiled and breathed in relief as Sherlock's mouth stretched into a wide grin. 

John walked to the loo to brush his teeth and Sherlock buzzed about like a honey bee getting his bed ready. Papers were laid aside and blinds drawn. John could hear him walking back and forth and didn't know why until he returned to find him pacing. He went and rested a hand on Sherlock's lower back. The younger man went stiff and then slack as he pushed back into the touch. 

"Relax." John whispered. 

"I was thinking, well, my bed's bigger." Sherlock said, voice filled with tension. 

"That's fine. I'm gonna go get in my pajamas, okay?" John asked. 

Sherlock nodded but didn't turn as John left the room. He was in the same position when John returned. John decided he would go ahead and get into bed, hoping Sherlock would follow suit. 

"I'm not sure what you're expecting." Sherlock said, still looking at the far wall. 

"I'm not expecting anything. I just want to lay here with you." John assured him. 

After a count of ten Sherlock turned and walked to the edge of the bed, pulling down the duvet and slipping beneath it. He lay on his back for a moment before turning and looking at John with worried eyes. John reached out and brushed the curls from his brow. 

"Can I kiss you?" he asked. 

Sherlock nodded once and John wrapped his arm around his waist to pull him close. He kissed Sherlock's bottom lip, sucking gently before letting go, and moved to his chin. 

"Why are you kissing my chin?" Sherlock asked. 

"Am I not allowed to kiss it?" John asked with a small smile. 

"It's not that, it's just...no one's ever kissed my chin." Sherlock breathed out quickly. 

"What about your neck?" John asked as he kissed along Sherlock's jaw. 

Sherlock shook his head almost imperceptibly and John leaned in to lick and suck just over Sherlock's Adam's apple. Sherlock shuddered and moaned, seeming to startle himself. 

"That's...oh, that's..." he mumbled. 

John ran a hand up the back of his neck and tangled his fingers in the short curls. Sherlock inhaled quickly and quite suddenly gripped John's hips, bringing him close and eliciting a sigh from the doctor. John wrapped his right leg around Sherlock's thigh and rocked his hips slightly. 

"John!" Sherlock shouted. 

"Christ, you're sensitive." John said with a laugh. 

Sherlock had a delicious flush moving up his neck and spreading across his cheeks and John thought absently that he'd never seen anything so beautiful in his whole life. Sherlock thrust his hips forward and all thought was gone from John's mind. All that was left was the feeling of their cock's rubbing together and Sherlock's tongue, now mobile, pushing into John's mouth. 

They wrestled for a few seconds with each other's clothes and then set back into a quick rhythm once they were only in their pants. John had a leg wrapped high around Sherlock and one of Sherlock's thighs was pressed between John's legs. They were rutting against each other hopelessly, tongues fighting for purchase and teeth scraping. 

"John." Sherlock hissed as he started to shake. "John." 

"Christ. You're close, aren't you?" John asked. 

"John." Sherlock replied, apparently unable to say anything else. 

John latched onto Sherlock's neck with his lips and sucked hard. Sherlock whined deeply and made a little 'ha' sound before stilling and tensing up. John felt the warm ejaculate seeping through his pants and thrust twice more before coming himself. 

"I just came in my pants." Sherlock whispered in a strange detached sort of voice. 

John chuckled and kissed him softly. When he drew away Sherlock had a crooked grin starting. 

"Yeah, me too." he said. 

"I liked it." Sherlock added as he wrinkled up his nose. 

"Then I think we should do it again. A lot. The coming, not necessarily the part where we were still partly dressed."

"Why not?" Sherlock asked playfully as he reached up to card his fingers through John's hair. 

"Because I'm the only one doing the wash, and I'm not presoaking your pants every time." John replied, smiling up at his detective. 

"John?" Sherlock whispered. 

"Yeah, Sherlock?"

"I don't want you to date anyone else." Sherlock replied with a wrinkled brow. 

John sighed and kissed him gently. "That's not a problem."


End file.
